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by comparing the effects, which her presence produced on his patient, with the symptoms enumerated by Sappho.



THAT man is like a God to me
Who, sitting face to face with thee,
Shall hear thee sweetly speak, and see

Thy laughter's gentle blandishing.

'Tis this astounds my trembling heart:
I see thee, lovely as thou art:

My fluttering words in murmurs start,
My broken tongue is faltering.

My flushing skin the fire betrays

That through my blood electric strays:
My eyes seem darkening as I gaze,
My ringing ears re-echoing.

Cold from my forehead glides the dew:
A shuddering tremour thrills me through:
My cheek a green and yellow hue;

All gasping, dying, languishing.


VENUS! immortal! child of Jove!
Who sitt'st on painted throne above;
Weaver of wiles! oh, let not Love

Inflict this torturing flame!
But haste; if, once, my passion's cry
Drew thee to listen, hasten nigh;

From golden palaces on high

Thy harness'd chariot came.

O'er shadowy earth, before my sight,

Thy dainty sparrows wheel'd their flight;
Their balanced wings, in ether's light,

Were quivering to and fro.

The birds flew back: thou, blessed queen!
Didst smile with heavenly brow serene;
And ask, what grief the cause had been,
That summon'd thee below?

What most I wish'd, with doating mind:
Whom most, seductive, I would bind
In amorous nets; and, "who, unkind,

My Sappho, wrongs thee now?"

"The fugitive shall turn pursuer;

The vainly woo'd shall prove the wooer:
The cold shall kneel to his undoer,

Though she disdain his vow."

Come, then, now! come once again!
Ease my bosom of its pain!

Let me all my wish obtain !

Fight my battles thou!



THIS dust was Timas: ere her bridal hour
She lies in Proserpina's gloomy bower:

Her virgin playmates from their lovely head
Clip with sharp steel the locks; the strewments of

the dead.


THIS oar, and net, and fisher's wicker'd snare Themiscus placed above his buried son: Memorials of the lot of life he bare;

The hard and needy life of Pelagon.

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